


Oil

by Wednesdayschild (sheraiah)



Series: Wanker universe [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Food Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheraiah/pseuds/Wednesdayschild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas and Gimli are at it again. A sequel to 'Wanker'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oil

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Blame it on monkeywhatflys again! She dared me to write an oil-wrestling fic. Of course, the deal is that what I write she has to read. Hopefully I can get at least one ‘Oh, Good Lord!’ out of her with this one. There’s also a good-natured poke at the whole debate on what are the appropriate anatomical terms to use in erotic fanfic.

*thump* 

 

“Gimli! Be quiet, do you want to wake the hobbits?” the elf hissed at his much less graceful companion.

 

“This was YOUR idea, elf. I wanted to stay in our room.”

 

“I cannot concentrate when your stomach is growling in my ear, Master Stone-cleaver. The only solution is to feed you before we continue,” Legolas retorted.

 

“Only an elf would get distracted by a growling stomach while doing that,” Gimli groused. 

 

“I am only thinking of your comfort, meleth,” the elf graced his lover with a sweet smile.

 

“I was perfectly comfortable with my cock in your mouth.” The elf made a face. “Well, what else am I supposed to call it, for Mahal’s sake?” the dwarf asked, exasperated.

 

“You could try calling it by its name. There is nothing wrong with the word ‘penis’. I do not understand the need mortals have to give those particular parts nicknames,” came the lofty reply. Gimli snorted.

 

“You mean to tell me that you elves never call it anything but ‘penis’? Not even when you’re children?” The question earned him an annoyed look and Gimli grinned. Aside from the fact that he was truly interested in getting an answer, he loved annoying Legolas.

 

“Be quiet, you will wake Merry and Pippin.” Gimli just chuckled quietly, earning him another annoyed look. “Very well, if you wish to explain to them why you are sneaking into the kitchen with me, half dressed, and both of us better than half-erect then by all means be as noisy as you wish,” the elf snapped, sotto voice. The look on the dwarf’s face stopped his ire in its tracks. “Or perhaps that is why you agreed to this. Does the thought that we might be discovered excite you?” he whispered, running a hand down his lover’s chest. Gimli gave a slight moan and Legolas’ mouth curved into a sensual smile. “Well then, if you are very nice to me, this may be a more profitable excursion that you thought it would be.” Gimli leaned in close and ran his tongue across one puckered nipple, drawing a low moan from the elf.

 

“Wasn’t that nice?”

 

“Yes,” Legolas breathed, his hand gripping the dwarf’s muscular shoulder, “nice.”

 

“Good. Now, get that beautiful arse of yours into the kitchen and I’ll be even nicer.” Another moan, and a tug on his hand were his answer and he chuckled softly again as Legolas practically dragged him towards their destination. He loved arousing the elf even more than he loved annoying him.

 

Once in the kitchen, Legolas released his hand and turned to face him, leaning against the cabinet that ran the length of the room with a look of challenge on his flushed face. Gimli grinned, moving purposefully towards him. Wide slate-colored eyes urged the dwarf on as he reached for the lacings that held the elf’s breeches closed. Maddeningly, he paused, giving the elf an arch look. Legolas caught his lower lip in his teeth, his fingers tightening on the edge of the cabinet until his knuckles whitened. 

 

Gimli waited. Legolas chewed his lip and shifted restlessly. 

 

Gimli waited. Legolas shifted again, his fingers tensing further to the point that his knuckles cracked.

 

Still Gimli waited, a smug look on his face. A small whimper escaped from the elf. Gimli’s grin widened. Finally, Legolas’ breath left him in a gust.

 

“Gimli, please!” he hissed, fairly vibrating.

 

“Of course, all you had to do was ask,” the dwarf replied, smug grin still in place.

 

“I shall get you for this, Gimli,” Legolas said, wavering between glaring and arching to rub up against the thick fingers that were untying his laces. “Later. Ooooh!” Gimli’s calloused palm cupped the arousal he had just freed, driving thoughts of revenge temporarily out of the mind of said arousal’s owner.

 

“Mind you don’t wake the whole house, elf,” the dwarf warned, his tone laced with humor. 

 

“Can you not, aah, find something, oh, better to do, mmm, with your mouth?”

 

“Possibly, if you can keep yours shut.” He ceased moving his hand and gazed up at the elf. Legolas’ cheeks and ears were flushed, his mouth slightly open. The elf promptly clamped his lips shut and nodded vigorously. Gimli chuckled before applying his mouth in a way both partners found satisfying. 

 

A surprisingly short while later, Legolas came with a stifled groan and slid down the front of the counter to sit on the floor as his legs gave out. Reaching up, he dragged Gimli down into his lap, fusing their mouths together in a molten kiss. 

 

Their tongues battled for dominance, hands roaming unhindered over each other’s body. Both were too distracted to hear the clink of the crockery tipping over, dislodged by Legolas’ arm on his way down to the floor. It was not until both felt something cool and slick pouring down onto them that they noticed anything amiss. 

 

Gimli sat up abruptly, pulling away from the elf’s mouth with a pop. Oil made from the fruit of local trees continued to drip down from the edge of the counter onto Legolas’ head and left shoulder, running down his bare torso to puddle on the floor around his slender hips. Looking down, the dwarf could see the same substance that soaked the elf’s hair coating his beard and chest. He could also feel it trickling down his back into the waist of his breeches. Legolas looked up at him, wide-eyed, oil dripping off the end of his nose, lips twitching with barely suppressed mirth. Gimli’s own lips twitched and he muffled his laughter in Legolas’ right shoulder, the elf’s breathless chuckles gusting into his ear.

 

“Oh dear, what a mess we have made,” the elf gasped, out of breath from both laughter and orgasm. Gimli nipped the tip of his ear, causing him to gasp.

 

“I say we make a bigger mess,” the dwarf murmured, drawing a slick hand down the elf’s now slippery chest. He spun Legolas under him so that the elf lay prone on the stone floor between the counter and worktable. Hooking his fingers in the waist of the elf’s breeches, he shucked them quickly down the long legs, leaving the archer bare to his gaze. To his immense satisfaction, he noted that Legolas was already half hard again. Hurriedly peeling his own breeches down, he kicked them aside before sinking back down atop his lover. 

 

Coated in the oil, the two wrestled, rolling around on the floor while trying to be as quiet as possible. Gaining the dominant position again, Gimli pinned Legolas down, knowing full well that the elf could turn the tables easily if he wished. His slick fingers ghosted over the archer’s now-straining member, pausing to fondle the delicate sack that hung beneath it. Legolas went utterly still, a needy moan spilling from his mouth. Gimli had only a second to be smug, however, before Legolas flipped him onto his back, sliding a hand under his head to keep it from impacting on the hard floor.

 

“Just what do you think you are doing, meleth?” the elf asked, an amused smile on his oily face and a lustful look in his eyes.

 

“You, I thought,” dwarf replied, more than a little dazed by the swift reversal of their positions.

 

“Oh, really? And how do you want me? On my back with my legs over your shoulders?” the elf asked, running his hands over his lover’s broad shoulders. “Straddling you and riding you as we did the first time we lay together?” He squirmed against Gimli, his slick belly rubbing the dwarf’s arousal in the most delightful manner. “Or would you like to take me on all fours, like a stallion mounts a mare?” The deliciously naughty look on the elf’s face went straight to Gimli’s groin.

 

“On all fours, now!”

 

The elf shifted quickly, his eagerness patent in the smoldering look he sent his lover over his shoulder. Gimli nipped one taut mound affectionately, drawing a smothered yelp from the archer, before sliding a finger into the rosy opening between Legolas’ buttocks. The elf moaned, rocking back wantonly. In no time, the dwarf had his lover stretched adequately and replaced his fingers with his straining member, stifling a groan of relief as he sank into Legolas’ heat.

 

He gritted his teeth, waiting until Legolas adjusted to his girth, stroking the elf’s back and sides until Legolas pushed back against him again. He started slowly; using the deep thrusts that he knew would drive his lover into a frenzy. Sure enough, Legolas began whimpering and arching back insistently. Gimli sped up, changing his angle slightly to make certain he hit the elf’s sweet spot. A gasp told him his aim was true and then he lost himself to sensation, unaware that they were sliding across the floor with each thrust.

 

Faster and faster he thrust, Legolas’ stifled moans driving him on. He felt Legolas lurch under him and heard the elf mutter a curse. He quickly looked up, startled to see that he had driven the elf headfirst into the hutch. Legolas rubbed his head where it had impacted against the door. Concerned, Gimli moved to withdraw.

 

“Do not stop!” the elf entreated, pushing back against his lover insistently. “I am fine, Gimli, please do not stop!” The dwarf reached around his lover’s hips to take him in hand, determined to bring Legolas back to the brink. Many hard thrusts and firm strokes later a deep shudder told him that Legolas was close, and he increased his speed, both with his fist and his thrusts. The elf’s back tensed, and warmth spilled through his fingers. Legolas’ passage clenched around him, tipping him over the edge and he spilled, muffling his groan of completion against his lover’s back.

 

He collapsed atop Legolas, breathing hard. Suddenly, a cloud of white obscured his vision and he began coughing. Legolas started, sneezing as the cloud enveloped them. Gimli withdrew quickly, dropping to sit on his haunches. Legolas turned to face him, sitting a bit gingerly on one hip. The elf’s eyes were the size of saucers, his hair filled with a white sludge. Reaching out, he drew two fingers down the part of his lover’s face not covered by his beard and held them up before Gimli’s eyes.

 

“Flour,” they said, simultaneously.

 

“Mordor, what a mess,” Legolas whispered, taking in the state of the kitchen. “Meleth, I think we should find our breeches and then clean this up.”

 

“And pray the hobbits stay in their beds until after we’re done,” Gimli agreed, rising to search for their clothing. 

 

~

 

Gimli and Legolas made their appearance at breakfast a bit later than their usual wont, but the hobbits were too pre-occupied to notice, much less comment on it. Frodo stirred his porridge un-enthusiastically, a frown gracing his features. Sam, who had finished his porridge and was rummaging through the cabinets, muttering darkly, was also frowning and the younger two hobbits were arguing over the last slice of toast. Gandalf sat by the fire, a half-finished bowl of porridge on the hearth next to him as he filled his pipe. The elf and dwarf exchanged a look.

 

“What’s wrong, young hobbits?” Gimli asked, pleased that his voice sounded normal.

 

“There’s no flour and no oil, and Sam just re-stocked on both yesterday,” Pippin groused, having lost the toast to Merry, who spread jam on it before cutting it in two pieces and passing half to his younger cousin, earning him a sheepish smile.

 

“There’s something funny afoot, make no mistake,” Samwise stated, turning around and placing a good-sized slab of salted pork on the worktable. “Mister Frodo had his heart set on spiced fried dough this morning, so I made sure yesterday that I had more than enough flour for the dough and oil to fry them in, although I don’t know as how they’d taste not being fried in lard like we do back home, and I get up this morning and both the oil crock and the flour crock are empty.” He turned a stern look on Merry and Pippin. “If I didn’t know for a fact that the two of you wanted fried dough as much as Mister Frodo, I’d think you had a hand in it.”

 

“Well, we didn’t,” Pippin retorted indignantly. “We were looking forward to it, too.” Merry merely glared at Sam, who was not fazed in the least.

 

“Now, lads, don’t bicker. There’s no point in fussing about it now. Let’s just make do with what we have. After all, it’s a feast compared to what we had while we were traveling, isn’t it?” Frodo’s calm logic calmed the other three, who voiced their agreement as Sam settled into slicing the pork to be fried.

 

“Would it be possible to make the fried dough for elevensies if Gimli and I went to the market to fetch more flour and oil, Sam?” Legolas asked, his expression carefully solicitous.

 

“Why, yes, I could, Mister Legolas, I mean, Legolas,” Sam replied, belatedly remembering the elf’s request to dispense with titles. “It really doesn’t take any time at all to cook, once the oil is hot enough.”

 

“A thoroughly appropriate solution, Legolas,” the wizard rumbled from his corner of the kitchen, the sharp eyes under the white brows not missing the faint tinge of color on the elf’s cheeks and ears and the subtle shifting in the dwarf’s stance. “I trust you and Gimli will not tarry in your task.”

 

“Not at all, Gandalf, we’ll leave right now, won’t we, Legolas?” Gimli said with a cough. The two headed for the door, not noticing the wizard following them until he stopped them at the front door of the dwelling, out of the hobbit’s hearing.

 

“A moment, you two,” Gandalf said, placing a hand on Gimli’s shoulder. In the other hand he help up an elven hair clasp, liberally crusted with flour. Gimli and Legolas both flushed beet red. “In the future, may I suggest locations other than the kitchen for late night trysts?” He handed the clasp to Legolas and walked back toward the kitchen, chuckling merrily.

 

The elf and the dwarf exchanged mortified looks.

 

“Mordor, I don’t think I’m going to be able to look him in the eye for at least a fortnight,” Gimli stated, running a hand through his unbound hair.

 

“Make that a century in my case,” the elf muttered, his face and ears still aflame. He looked down at his lover, a small, wry smile on his fair face. “But do not take to mean that I have the slightest measure of regret, my dear dwarf.”

 

“Nor I, my dear elf,” Gimli replied with a chuckle. “Come on, the sooner we get to the market, the sooner we get back. I have a yearning for some more of the treat I sampled last night.” He grinned up at Legolas, whose eyes twinkled in reply as he held the door open, gesturing for his shorter companion to precede him.

 

 

~

 

The End


End file.
